A House is Not a Home
by SophiaBushFan
Summary: Kurt knows he doesn't belong; not with Finn, not at home--not anywhere. A one shot possible story inspired by this past week's episode. I know it's short, but it is worth it. Please Read & Review!


"A House is Not a Home"

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything, at least nothing Glee related or related to the song._

…

Kurt Hummel stood staring at the pale, almost translucent walls of his bedroom, then to one recently decorated wall in particular; the various swatches which aligned it staring back at him. No, not staring--laughing. Kurt's jaw tightened and he pressed his teeth firmly together and looked away, towards his bed, his arms coming up together, crossing against his chest; a vain attempt to shield himself from the seemingly permanent ache that lingered within him. Kurt did his best to bite back the tears that threatened to spill at any moment, promising to send little, black rivers down his porcelain cheeks.

A bitter, uncharacteristically rough laugh fought its way out of his mouth.

How many times was he going to do this to himself? He glanced back at the swatches, they were still teasing him. He could have sworn they were taking pleasure in his pain, in his sorrow--the way the gorillas on the football team did every time they landed a pee balloon, or the dumpster thudded with a fresh toss.

Kurt's face tightened as he continued to battle the ever encroaching wave of tears, and he glanced around the room, spinning on the heels of his Prada loafers.

His room no longer seemed to glow with elegance or echo the fashionable and modern comfort it once had. Now it was seemed almost as barren as he felt. It was cold, empty, and lonely. It was almost cruel the way everything in the space mocked him.

With a scorching fury Kurt rushed to the wall, his hands clawing and tearing at each and every abominable swatch, ripping away at every color palate. They were all hideous. _He _was hideous.

His breath coming now in short little puffs and gasps, mascara undoubtedly staining his cheeks, Kurt collapsed onto the floor, a few of the shredded swatches crunching beneath his weight; he sighed at the reminder that Sue said he needed to lose weight, but none of that matter, he could still hear _them. _

They were still laughing at him.

Kurt looked up and gazed mindlessly through flooded eyes at the rest of his room; at the things that made it up.

The things were beautiful, and expensive, and wholly more tasteful than the travesty that was Rachel Berry's bedroom; hell, what part of Kurt was not more tasteful than Rachel? But that was not the point, not this time. While his bed and vanity, electronics and night creams spoke volumes to Kurt's beauty, they did nothing to silence his cowardice and his isolation. He had acquired each item, meticulously making sure everything would match and blend and mesh, as a way of finding another piece of who he was. Another part of the star within. A star that would soon sun shine with an incandescence which would rival the brightest and hottest of stars--making them bow and kneel before him.

But that was crap. All of it was crap.

The only purpose they served--his bag, his shoes, his touch screen this or that, was to cover the massive gaping hole that was Kurt's existence. The existence of a boy who did not belong. The existence of a boy who, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it and no matter how many goals he scored or games he won, was still a disappointment to his father. A boy who's heart, in its complete and total entirety, belonged to a boy who would never loved him back; no matter how many outfits he carefully pieced together, or solos he sang, or tears he shed. Finn Hudson would never be his. Would never ache for him the way Kurt did for the taller boy.

Would never _want_ him.

Would never _be_ with him.

Would never _love_ him.

He would always be the boy who had lost his mother too swiftly and suddenly; the boy who would always cast an angry glance toward the heavens with every visit to the statute of the angel Gabriel that resided above his mother's gravestone. The boy who no matter how many wishes-upon-a-star or 11:11's later would still be alone.

The boy who would always be _home_less.

...

Author's Note: Okay, so maybe this is crap, but I was sitting in bed tonight, thinking about yesterday's episode and I got inspired to write this. I know it's short, but I just wanted to put something short and sweet...actually, short and painful out there. I love Kurt and I think Chris' rendition of "A House is Not a Home" was flawless and tragically mesmerizing, so I wrote this. Hope you guys liked it. Please, please read and review. This was planned as a one shot, but could go on if you guys like. Let me know! Love you all!


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